


Pins And Needles

by justbreathe



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, TYTNW, The Year That Never Was, Year That Never Was, janto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe/pseuds/justbreathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>How had he ever thought he wouldn't want this? He'd been scared, that was the truth: scared that if he allowed Jack back in his bed he'd not be able to hold him, to hush him, to laugh with him, to scream at him, to fight him and joke with him. Nothing was worth that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pins And Needles

**Author's Note:**

> Here, this is much better than my last piece.
> 
> Set shortly after Jack returns from TYTNW. My beta instructed me to state that the same warnings as usual apply. My Janto stings.

Sometimes, Jack felt like a shadow.

Not just to himself. The rest of the team saw it from time to time, but never commented on it. Like everything else, it was filed under the category of not-my-business. It was worse when he came back, after being gone for a time, although he tried to hide it (and was much less successful). There came many moments, no matter what he did, where he felt he wasn't there. That he was insubstantial, that the dark had taken him, or that he'd been in it so long that he'd begun to form illusions for himself. That the world around him was false, or maybe he was. Maybe he always had been.

Gwen was the first one to approach him, which was ridiculously predictable. She'd disappeared from her desk, her voice clear at first from the half-open door to Jack's office, an excuse. When it went quieter and she stayed too long, almost no one noticed. No one but Ianto, peeking over Tosh's shoulder as they muttered to one another about an algorithm that didn't want to work correctly. Busy, though, and staying to himself, he chose not to acknowledge it. What happened between Jack and...well, anyone else, wasn't his concern. Even after his return, after things had begun to shift toward the better, they kept their distance. Each of them had private lives, and they didn't meet or cross, except to touch for a moment, from time to time. Tangent lines. When had he started to think about things that way again?

Pretending he hadn't noticed that they were talking was easy. Pretending he didn't know Jack was having one of his bad days was not. But Ianto had been the one to enforce the line between them that first night, so close to allowing Jack back into his life without a second thought. In the time he'd been alone, he'd changed, grown. He was stronger, independent. He'd had time to become his own man, to learn what it meant to care for himself without someone there to do it for him. Yes, the idea, even the act, was nice, but it was necessary that he put his foot down. Jack had left. He would leave again. Ianto needed a basis to support himself when it happened. Distance. For Jack, change was commonplace, taken for granted. He was very good at adjusting. Ianto's precautions were entirely for himself.

So he had no one to blame but himself that Gwen was the one in that office with him. That Jack had not said a word. Upstairs, he was ranting. The door had been closed, but a glance told him all he needed to know. Jack was agitated. He spoke quickly, often ducked his face into his hands, running them over it as though he could rub the anger out of the wrinkles that had deepened there. Gwen listened quietly as he spoke to her, dodging the truth, telling about emotions instead of the memories that flashed in his mind. The awful things which he had to protect them from. It was a constant job, it was what he did. Not only for them. For everyone. For the whole world. Gwen was so gently persistent she tended to get a great deal more out of him that anyone else, the rare bits of information she wasn't supposed to know slipping through quite often to her. He couldn't help it. It really did him well.

Quietly, Ianto spun in his chair next to Tosh, hands folded between his knees as he watched Gwen and Jack talk high above them. Faint guilt pricked at his heart, tickled coldly across his skin. Maybe if he was more encouraging. Did they need that, between them? The distance was important to him now. There were things he didn't tell Jack, and things he didn't want Jack to say to him. Certain things just...hadn't happened, since he came back. Before he left, they'd been close. That much was indisputable. It wasn't the sexual tension, it had nothing to do with the stolen kisses, or Ianto's little complaints of harassment, so much badly veiled truth. It was more than that. Different, as he so often emphasised to their colleagues. He and Jack weren't a fling. It had never been like that.

What had changed did bother him, though. That Jack couldn't meet their eyes some days. That he stopped for hours at a time and lost track of what he was doing, where he was. Face buried in his hands, tears on his cheeks, his breathing rough, he'd start violently when Ianto brought him coffee as an excuse to wake him from whatever dream he'd slipped into. He'd only been back a few weeks, but he was a different man. Sometimes his smiles were so false even Owen couldn't return them.

As Ianto watched, Gwen placed her hand on his. He brought it to his lips, clinging to her, as though it were reflex. Ianto's stomach flipped. This was his decision, he reminded himself. It was fine.

"Ianto?" Blue-grey eyes flicked back to the screen, to the look Tosh was giving him. She was concerned about him. As concerned as he was about Jack. How long had she been talking to him? It wasn't important. Before she could speak again, he provided a quick response.

"Yep." Don't get distracted. You're obvious enough.

"Everything okay?" There was the voice he heard too often these days. Before, he would have ignored it, missed it. Thought they didn't care. Now, though, it didn't matter. He had to be okay. Maybe he wasn't. Of course he was. He had to be.

"Yep." Again, just a word. Just like 'I'm fine' and 'nothing'. Reflex, right? Habit. By way of distraction, he dove right back into the work, and Tosh didn't question him again. He missed the way Owen's lips pursed when he walked past them, too, the tense of his fingers as he made a decision not to touch Ianto's shoulder. Hard to think that they didn't care, now. Very, very obvious.

They left as quietly as the day had gone, whispering out of the door in a wave of good-nights and see-you-laters. Words that were Ianto's cue, even after all this time. Jack's feet hurt, numbly, when he rose to gaze out of the window over the hub. They hurt as much as his head did, although the latter should have been more important. More marked. Maybe it was training that made him so conscious of his feet. Distracting thoughts. Or was his mind always this abuzz these days? Sighing, he tucked into himself, shivering a little, although he wasn't sure if it was from cold. Maybe he should roll down his sleeves, just to be safe. Below him, Ianto, having disappeared for a moment, returned with a tray and a trash bag, a roll of paper towels. He didn't even seem to notice being watched, and something about that felt comfortable. Felt right. Even if he was moving somewhat clumsier than usual, lacking a certain assured grace as he swept messes off of keyboards and straightened computer desks. In silence, Jack watched him clean, noting every movement, every halting thought behind them. In silence, he made his way out of the office, stopping at the top of the stairs, wondering if he dared interrupt the man. Wondering why he was wondering.

He knew Ianto was being distant on purpose. That there was a good reason for it, and that he was entitled to that. A year or more of spending every moment worrying about him, though, thinking about him and the rest of Torchwood, praying for their safety, made him ache with need every time he was close. Some days all he wanted was to draw Ianto to him, hold him close, know that he was alive by his heat and his breath and his heartbeat. They didn't have to kiss, they didn't have to make love, all he wanted was a warm, living body there. Firm, strong, stronger than Jack was. He'd take anyone, really, even Gwen, who had offered that morning. A hug, a whisper of reassurance, and Jack wished that was good enough.

"Everything okay?" By way of conversation, he spoke gently, but Ianto's movements halted as though he'd been struck. Like a ghost, Jack's voice shocked cold over him, and he gave the man a smile, nodded as he picked up cleaning. There was pain in the soldier's eyes, when Ianto hazarded a glance over his shoulder, and he tucked his hands into his pockets, a gesture of unconscious withdrawal, on his way down the stairs. Casual, for himself as much as Ianto, he settled on the lowest landing and leaned over the banister, watching the other work.

"I was thinking..." This time Ianto didn't even look at him, and Jack let himself frown when he looked up from playing with his hands. Dismissal, pretending, he pushed back from the railing and shrugged, spinning a bit on his way further into the hub. "There's a nightclub a little ways from here, _fantastic_ margaritas, gorgeous ladies-"

"Not tonight, Jack." Ianto's voice was tired. He practically sighed. Jack pretended not to notice.

"Tomorrow?" This time he did sigh, and he still wasn't looking at him. They'd only gone out the week before, and more than once a week felt like too much still. More than once a week increased Jack's chances to steal one too many kisses. Ianto wasn't ready. And, clearly, he didn't trust the man. That had slipped under the coffee boy's radar, but was perfectly plain to his superior. Stopping a few feet from where Ianto was carefully stacking the last of the coffee cups, Jack stuck his hands in his pockets again, rocked on his feet. Silence fell between them like a stone wall, thick, tangible, and strong.

For a moment, Jack slipped away. Behind his eyes Ianto was hanging from the ceiling by his ankles, stripped naked, blood dripping from him. Like an animal. Laughter echoed. Jack swallowed, closed his eyes, took a breath. He needed...no. He needed more coffee. That should help.

"Mind making me one last cup before you leave?" This time, it was unceremonious. Ianto stopped dead at the sound of his voice. Jack's eyes were closed. He didn't notice. For a moment, Ianto had wondered if the man was even real. It had been like listening to a recording, and it wasn't the first time. Lifeless words that held no meaning, no power. Nothing of the strength that had defined Jack for as long as Ianto had known him. Jack's eyes were still closed, when he dared to look over, and the lines and shadows of his face were deceptively deep. He seemed at least a decade older than was usual for him, perhaps more. Like an old man, suddenly, and it was only after he'd been staring for a while that Jack inhaled sharply, managed to look back. As though waking, coming back from the dead. Ianto didn't move. He couldn't. Jack's brow furrowed, concerned, but even then he continued to stare. They were locked together. Empty, and cold, and quiet. It was dark. Lonely. They were so far apart.

"What happened to you?" Soft words that permeated the silence and became part of it, rather than breaking it. They were nearly inaudible under the sound of the water, but for all their distance, they were so close that Ianto could have thought the words loud enough and been heard. Slowly, the younger straightened, turned to face his captain more fully, Jack's look of concern absorbed. Reflected. Tinted with the slightest streak of anger. "I haven't seen you smile, really smile, not once since you came back. You won't talk to us. I don't think you've joked with anyone but me more than once. Every word that comes out of your mouth is flat. Like..." he only hesitated a second, but it was enough that, when he spoke again, the breath left Jack's lungs entirely, "like you're dead."

Choked, his blood running cold, Jack couldn't respond. Memories and images flashed over his face, the pain of them plain, enough that Ianto couldn't tear his gaze away. It hurt him to watch, the feeling tangible, as though they shared one mind. Jack was scared, and sad, and lonely. It wasn't his fault, even Jack didn't blame him, but it was there all the same. Time stretched and cracked like glass. He could feel how much Jack wanted to reach out and touch him.

In a blink, Jack moved forward. Ianto stiffened, unsure, but allowed himself to be enveloped in strong arms. He was warm, his heartbeat racing, fingers dragging and catching in the fabric of Ianto's suit. Against him, Jack let out a breath. A sigh. Relief. Ianto was smaller than he'd remembered, thinner, but he was close. He was here, and that was all that mattered. Moments passed, and Jack began to tremble, to gasp softly, his grip so tight Ianto felt he might crack a rib if the man didn't let up. But he didn't move away. He let it happen, knowing intuitively that he had to, that if he didn't, whatever fragile relationship they had would shatter. Romance aside, this was much more important.

"I'm sorry," came words whispered against Ianto's neck. That was enough, much as Ianto hated it, for him to relax, to sigh in return. The trash bag slipped from loosened fingers. Jack was crying, the wound in his voice as apparent as the ones he'd seen in the man's eyes. Against him, Ianto relaxed, taking a slow breath, hazarding his arms around Jack's back. The elder shuddered at the touch. "I'm so sorry." A sound like a cough broke between them, a rough sob, and Ianto shook his head, abandoning reason and all his resolutions to draw Jack close and thread his fingers through the short hair at the back of his head. "I tried. I'm s- Ianto..." Suddenly, violently, Jack's legs gave out, and Ianto collapsed to the ground with him, pulling him into his lap as he broke into violent sobs. Little whimpers slipped between choked breaths, groans that tried to turn into words and melted instead into nuzzles against Ianto's shoulder and chest. Unashamed, they clung to each other, alone in the cold dark. Ianto the strong one, as Jack buried his face against Ianto's stomach and practically screamed.

How had he ever thought he wouldn't want this? How had he convinced himself he was strong enough, stupid enough to refuse the man? This was something that meant so much more than a kiss. It was much, much more important. Their relationship had always been unorthodox. The sex had practically ruined it. He'd been scared, that was the truth: scared to lose _this_ , scared that if he allowed Jack back in his bed he'd not be able to hold him, to hush him, to laugh with him, to scream at him, to fight him and joke with him. Nothing was worth that.

Coffee in the morning and last thing at night. The scent of his skin left on his coat. The look on his face when he was thinking something that he daren't say. Smirks that spoke volumes, and how tired his eyes looked, how they sparkled and danced. All the stories, half of them true, the other half even truer.

How had he ever thought he didn't love him?

Eventually, slowly, Jack came to his senses, collected himself, allowed the sensation of Ianto's fingers through his hair and the soft sound of his voice to soothe him. For a moment, he fell asleep, half-curled against Ianto's folded legs, before he was woken gently with a shake and his name, and lips pressed against a saline-stained cheekbone. He could have pretended to stay asleep, let this moment last, but respect reminded him that he'd agreed not to play games. At least not for now.

"I forgive you." Three words, necessary, needed, the balm that soothed. Jack sighed, allowing Ianto to nuzzle his brow for a second before rising carefully. They were a mess, together on the floor of the hub, but it wasn't the first time. The thought made him smile. Beside him, Ianto laughed, a soft, abrupt bark of a sound, and Jack blinked up at him quickly, curious what he had seen or thought of.

"There," was all he said, a grin spreading across his own face as he canted his head, and then shook it. No more. That was enough. Jack had smiled, a _real_ smile. Finally. Everything really was going to be alright.

Standing, Ianto brushed himself off, and pulled Jack up when he raised his hand for help like a toddler. Proximity made them hesitate, hands on one another's arms, eyes locked, but neither of them moved. It was enough.

"Ianto..." But Ianto shook his head, smiled gently, didn't let him speak. There was plenty they needn't say to one another. Maybe ever.

"I'll make you that coffee."


End file.
